The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (17 page)

“Would you two idiots get me out of this,” Njangu shouted. “The son of a bitch might have a big brother.”

“Sure, sure,” Alei called. “Maybe there is a big brother, and we leave you in there to bring him up, eh? You’re the best bait we’ve ever had.”

“I’m going to kill someone,” Njangu promised, treading water, afraid to look into the dark depths below. “And I’m not particular who.”

• • •

“Damn,” Garvin said, eyeing the long line of sleek lims. “I didn’t know there was this much money in the whole friggin’ Cumbre system.”

“Best believe it,” Erik said. “Mines are pure gold, even if they don’t mine gold.”

“Now there’s something we didn’t talk about,” Garvin said, as they strolled toward the mansion’s gates. “If we’re cut off from the Confederation, who’s gonna buy the minerals? Isn’t all this geetus on thin ice?”

“Cumbre uses a lot of what it digs out,” Erik said. “And the Musth’ll buy anything that comes out of the ground to take back to their own worlds, They don’t give a rat’s earlobe whether it’s dug by their own people or by the ’Raum. This is secure wealth, m’friend. We’ll get by.”

“Evening, Mister Penwyth,” a uniformed security woman said. Erik nodded, and they went up the broad steps.

“The Bampurs do have real money,” Garvin agreed. “No stinkin’ security ‘bots here. And it’s nice to be with somebody they know.”

“What, automation?” Erik pretended horror. “When there’s always a lower-class flunky or a ’Raum to be hired? If we elite bassids started usin’ robots, who’d steal from us and blackmail our fool asses when they caught us in bed with somebody we shouldn’t be there with?”

“Careful, Striker,” Garvin said. “You’re startin’ to sound like a revolutionary.”

They went through the portico of the Bampur estate. Garvin thought he was still in the open air, and the columns on either side of him stood alone, then realized they supported a long, curving roof exactly matching the sky above.

“Clever, that,” Erik said. “In day, it looks just like daytime, at night, well, you can see for yourself.”

“Why’d the Bampurs go to the trouble?”

“Guess they don’t like rain,” Erik guessed. “Besides, the Rentiers — the very rich — aren’t as you and I, remember?”

“Thought you were rich.”

“Not
this
rich.”

“So how are they different?” Garvin asked. “Never had the opportunity to be around rich-rich much.”

Erik leaned close, and whispered: “They find
really
dumb ways to spend their credits.”

The columned walk curved down a gentle slope to a lake, with a mansion in the middle, on an island.

A covered causeway led across the water. A man crawled along the causeway toward them. “I’m a fish,” he explained. “Crawlin’ up … hic … stream t’spawn.”

“Did we maybe get here a little late?” Garvin asked.

“Nope. If we were late, good old Raenssler’d not even be movin'.”

“I see. Nice layout here,” Garvin said.

“When the Bampurs feel private,” Erik said, “they roll up the carpet and you’ve got to hail a boat to go a-calling.”

“Clever, I suppose.”

“I suppose. Ah-hah,” Erik said. “I knew Jasith wouldn’t steer us wrong. Listen. The band sounds drunk, so the party must be starting to catch fire.”

Garvin listened, nodded. “Nobody could be that bad sober.”

They went into the mansion’s central room. It was huge, open on all sides with a twenty-meter-high domed ceiling. There were big now-raised storm curtains to let down in bad weather. Corridors spidered off here and there to other parts of the house.

The party was a swirl of people, some dancing, some drinking, some doing both, badly and well. Here a man sat staring at a holo of ballet dancers, sobbing bitterly, there a man leaned against a bronze life-size statue of an Earth mermaid, whispering his life’s story into its sympathetic ear.

Garvin tried to look cosmopolitan, but it was hard. Not only were there three bars around the room, but each had four bartenders. Human bartenders. Even more exotic were the human servitors, more than twenty of them in white coats. The Bampurs had a
lot
of money.

He wondered wistfully if there was any way he could get his hands on some of it, then forgot that, seeing the dark-eyed small woman who darted up to Erik. Jasith Mellusin wore a quite incredible outfit — a black form-fitting floor-length asymmetric gown made even more immodest by missing side panels. The dress was held in place by large silver five-centimeter clips from mid-thigh to under her arm. She clearly wore nothing underneath it.

“You didn’t forget me!”

Eric kissed her. “How could I? And I’m right on time, Jasith, as you told me to be. Have I missed anything?”

“Two or three fights … a couple of people went swimming … one proposal of marriage … three engagements broken. Very, very slow so far.”

“What could we do to enliven things?” Erik asked. “By the way, this is my fellow defender of freedom. Jasith Mellusin, Garvin Jaansma.”

Jasith evaluated the tall blond. “Are you with someone?”

“Just him,” Garvin said, indicating Erik, “and he’s no fun. He leads.”

“Erik, I think you just enlivened
my
evening,” Jasith said in her throaty near whisper. She linked her arm through Garvin’s. “Do you dance?”

“Like an angel,” Garvin assured her.

“What’s an angel?”

Garvin grinned sharkishly. “You and I are going to get along very, very well.” He bowed to Erik. “Thank you for the introduction, m’lad, and I believe we’ll circulate.”

He moved Jasith toward the center of the floor, extended his arms just as the two bands, in exceptionally ragged nonsynchronization, broke into a new number.

“Oh,” Jasith said in disappointment. “This is that new dance … well, I guess it wouldn’t be new to you, ‘cause it came out from Centrum a couple of years ago, so it’s old journoh by now. Anyway, I don’t know the steps.”

Garvin thought of telling Jasith the deep, thorough knowledge he’d gained of the Confederation capital’s recreational tastes in three weeks in the recruit reception depot mainly spent cleaning ‘freshers, decided there wasn’t any point in spoiling the woman’s fondest beliefs. He was about to ask if he could get her a drink when he caught the tune’s rhythm line.

“Hell,” he said, “this one is easy. I’ll show you.” He drew her out onto the dance floor. “It’s all flash,” he explained. “Keep about, oh, five or six centimeters between us, hold your hand up like this, I put one hand around your waist, and it’s step to the side, to the side, back, back, to the side, to the side, and so forth. Every tenth measure or so I put pressure on your waist, and you spin using your hand as a pivot … that’s right. Then turn back … see, you’ve got it.”

Jasith, pink tongue clenched between her teeth, concentrated on her movements for a time, then looked up at Garvin. “You’re a very good dancer. Where’d you learn?”

Garvin smiled wryly, remembering a handsome man and a gorgeous woman, dressed in archaic formality, turning in a spotlighted ring, with hundreds of people cheering.

“In a circus,” he said.

Another memory came — an old-fashioned tarred tent, roaring in flames, screams, howls of fire lifters and a small boy, sitting in ashes, crying for the world that had just died around him. He pushed the thought away.

Jasith laughed.

“Sure. A circus. And you were the, what did they call it, master of the ring?”

“Ringmaster, actually. But that was a long time afterward.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m not that foolish. You’re not old enough to have done that.”

“If you say so,” Garvin said. “But I look a lot older with my hair dyed black, a phony pencil-line moustache, and a top hat.”

“Oh, stop! You know I’m not going to believe you. So what’s the new dance on Centrum?”

“It’s very interesting,” Garvin said. “First, you tie your arms together at the wrists, both men and women. Then you loop your hands over the other person’s neck.”

“That sounds romantic,” Jasith said.

“Oh, ‘tis, it truly is,” Garvin agreed. “When the music starts, you prance backward and forward, four steps, while shouting ‘Ha! Hoo!’ at the end of each sequence. Oh yeh. And everybody’s naked.”

“You took it too far,” she said. “I almost was believing you.”

“That’s the story of my life,” Garvin agreed, as the music stopped for a minute, then became a syrupy ballad. “Here’s another new style,” Garvin said, and took her in his arms, holding her close.

“It’s nice,” she breathed into his ear.

“So are you,” Garvin said, feeling a little drunk without having had anything at all to drink, her sleekness warm and giving against him. “Your hair smells like a soft tropical night, with the wind whispering through it.”

“Maybe you
did
work for a circus,” Jasith said. “You sure can use the words.”

“Ah, milady, when you’re poor and in love with someone far above you, words are your only help,” Garvin said.

“Only?”

“Well,” Garvin said, “the only ones you can use on a dance floor.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Jasith said. “Because if I did, I’ll bet you were going to say something dirty.”

“Not me,” Garvin protested, “for I’m as pure as … as … as what?”

“Flower petals?” Jasith suggested.

“Flower petals,” Garvin agreed. “And I’d like to take you in my arms, put you down on a carpet of them, and then lie down at your side.”

“Careful,” Jasith warned. “I think I know what comes next.”

“I put nine meters of tongue in your ear and drill for uranium?” Garvin said.

Jasith giggled. “That’s enough, silly.”

“That’s only a beginning,” Garvin said, and the music came to a halt. “Now we both deserve a drink.”

They walked off the dance floor. Garvin stopped to admire a fountain, brass cups of various sizes and shapes, each cascading water down into the next with a soft tinkling sound like half-heard bells. A dozen people, mostly men, were gathered around it, listening to a darkly handsome man a few years older than Garvin, who sat on the banquette around the fountain.

“Of
course
there’s a supreme being, Jermy.”

Jermy, a man very bald for his years, shook his head vigorously, a smile on his lips.

“Prove it, Loy.”

“Quite easily,” the other man said. “If there is no god, put him or her in upper case if you choose, then all would be chaos.”

“Not necessarily,” Jermy said. “Natural order. Evolution and that.”

“Fiddle,” Loy said. “Nothing happens accidentally, or quote naturally end quote. Show me an example of natural order … which you needn’t bother trying, for there’s none.”

“Better, since you’re the one trying to make a point,” Jermy said. “
You
give me an example of your god-dictated system that shows things are always as they ought to be.”

“Easily. Look about you. We freely concede the ’Raum are a distinctly lesser class and, I believe, race as well, correct?”

Garvin’s skin crawled as he heard too many murmurs of agreement.

“Therefore, they must function in a lesser capacity. Do you think it’s chance that our servitors are ’Raum, fitting quite comfortably into their meniality? You’d hardly expect to see one of them on the dance floor or standing with us, would you? We are their superiors, of course, so therefore they are content, with their god-ordered role as servants, whether it’s working in the mines or” — Loy held his empty glass out to a nearby white-clad man — “getting me another drink.”

The man, old enough to be Loy’s father, bowed and took the glass, expression blank. As he turned away, his eyes met Garvin’s, and the soldier noted the hard glitter.

“Yet another example — ” The handsome young man yelped in surprise as water cascaded down his back. He whirled, to see Garvin, looking ostentatiously aghast, moving one of the brass cups, so the water fell into it once more.

“My apologies,” Garvin said. “My hand must’ve conflicted with the natural order.”

The man came to his feet, flushing in anger. Garvin smiled, a tight, unpleasant smile. His hands curled, lifted, his left foot slid out and he centered himself, then semi-crouched.

Loy hesitated.

Jasith hissed, “Men!” and flounced away.

Garvin waited, but Loy didn’t move. Garvin ducked his head in dismissal, and went after Jasith.

He found her outside the great room, at the edge of the lake, staring out at the night. “Hey.”

She didn’t move.

“Hey, beautiful,” he tried again.

She spun. “Why do you men have to do things like that? You and your damned testosterone!”

“The crap that idiot was spouting needed interruption,” Garvin said. “And I’ve learned you can never argue with a bigot. Nothing testerone about that.”

“What bigot? Loy Kuoro’s well educated and a good friend of mine! His father’s publisher of
Matin
, and he’ll take over the holo in a few years. He’s
very
clever.”

“Okay,” Garvin said equably. “He’s a very clever asshole. But do I have to like him to be permitted to think
you’re
wonderful?”

Jasith hesitated, then shook her head. “No. But … but you can’t behave that way.”

“What do I know?” Garvin said. “I’m just a simple soldier, with simple desires.”

Jasith looked skeptical.

“Sometimes they overwhelm me,” he said. “For instance, with the moonlight behind you, I’ve got an overwhelming desire to kiss you.”

“You can’t — ” Her protest was muffled by his lips. The kiss lasted quite a long time. Eventually she drew back. “Oh dear,” she said. “I’ve never been kissed like that that I remember.”

“You sure?” Garvin asked.

“No. Maybe you should do it again,” she said. He did.

“My,” she said softly, melting closer. Garvin slid his hand through the gap in her dress, cupped, stroked her hips, then her naked buttocks. He slid a finger between them, caressed her. She murmured wordlessly, breath coming more quickly as her tongue curled around Garvin’s.

“Should we think about finding a nice, soft pile of flowers?” he whispered.

“We can’t,” she said sadly.

“Why not?”

“The Bampurs put alarms everywhere, and I don’t want a scandal if people came running and found us … well, found us.”